


what a wonderful caricature of intimacy

by SummerFrost



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Body Shots, Dubious Consent, Hair-pulling, Hate Sex, M/M, Pain, Rough Sex, Slapping, Spanking, Under-negotiated Kink, Unsafe Sex, actually you know what this isn't the worst thing i've written look at me all you want, don't look at me, like really really under-negotiated, primarily due to, wait i forgot a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 14:11:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12483460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SummerFrost/pseuds/SummerFrost
Summary: Bitty wants to kill Parse. He just also wants to fuck him first.





	what a wonderful caricature of intimacy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alpha_exodus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpha_exodus/gifts).



> I promised this premise to omgpbandj literally a year ago and finished it today because blithelybonny and soundslikepenance made me. You all deserve each other.
> 
> If you lose at flip cup you have to let your opponent do a body shot off your sick abs. That's a rule I made up so that I could make two fictional characters have ill-advised sex with each other. 
> 
> Title from Build God Then We'll Talk by Panic! at the Disco

Kent Parson’s tongue isn’t supposed to feel this good.

Bitty is supposed to be repulsed by it, after the words he heard it sling at Jack upstairs no less than half an hour ago. He should shove Kent off, flip cup sportsmanship be damned, and tell him to send a postcard back from Hell when he gets there.

But, oh _ Lord,  _ that’s a heinous amount of care being put into lapping up the tequila pooling in Bitty’s bellybutton, slow and sultry and  _ greedy,  _ making an obscene slurping sound with his lips (soft lips _ — _ why are his lips so  _ soft?) _ that might be imagined over the thick bass blasting from the speakers. But might not be. Parse’s tongue swirls and then drags upwards, tracing the lines of Bitty’s abs. 

Parse makes a little humming noise that vibrates against Bitty’s skin, like he’s pleased with the way he tastes. Bitty’s pretty sure he tastes like two hours of sweat.

Bitty’s not an expert or anything, but should body shots really take this long? Parse slides his tongue back down, glancing up to make eye contact from under pale eyelashes, practically smoldering, makes little circles as goes, mouth wet and creating suction like he’s—like he’s—

_ Bitty with his hands corded up in Parse’s hair. Shoulders flush against the wall. Parse on his knees. Parse drawing circles with his tongue on Bitty’s dick. Humming at the taste of precome. Parse sucking— _

Fuck. Parse pulls away and licks his lips, smirking. Bitty’s jeans are uncomfortably tight but no one seems to notice; drunk attention spans are short and they’re all busy setting up the next round of flip cup, chirping and shit-talking good-naturedly. Parse holds out a hand, offering to help him to his feet.

Bitty scowls and ignores him, sits up and hops off the table on his own. He starts to move away but Parse steps forward and brackets him against the table. His gaze drags over Bitty’s body, lingering pointedly on the erection Bitty is trying to will out of existence.

“I’m good with my tongue,” Parse murmurs, his breath hot against Bitty’s ear. He leans in, pressing a thigh against Bitty’s crotch, licks his earlobe, then nips. “Wanna see what I’m better with?”

It should be corny. Bitty should laugh in his face. Bitty should shove him away, maybe even slap him. It might feel good to slap him, vindictive. Instead it’s the sexiest thing anyone’s ever asked him, and it takes every bit of willpower he has not to whimper.

He takes a shaky breath and grits out, “Fuck you.” He recognizes the poor choice of words belatedly, when Parse’s thigh sinks deeper against him and rubs.

“Ideally, but I’m flexible.” Parse brings a hand to Bitty’s still-bare hip, gripping just the right side of too tightly. His fingers trace along the waistband of Bitty’s jeans, slowly traveling inward, slipping under the just tiniest bit. He pauses, then flicks his thumb down, over the button, pressing in and dragging—

Bitty does slap him, then. He collides solidly with Parse’s cheek, winces at the sting that shoots through his own nerves. Parse blinks slowly. His eyes were blue before but now they look gray, probably from all the pupil bleeding out to the sliver of iris on the edge. “Cool,” he breathes, “I like it rough.”

Bitty wants to kill him. He just also wants to fuck him first.

 

~*~

 

They’re in his room. He didn’t even remember to get his shirt back off the table. That’s going to cause problems later, but there are more pressing things on his mind, like shoving Parse onto his knees and unbuttoning his own jeans. Like pulling Parse’s head upwards by the hair and growling, “Suck,” or the way Parse does, immediately and almost viciously, like he’s trying to rip something out.

It’s good, so good, the way Bitty knew it would be from the moment Parse’s tongue touched his stomach. He thunks his head back against the door and thrusts up into it. 

Parse chokes, sputters around Bitty’s dick, pulls off. 

Bitty slaps him again, probably harder this time, and he isn’t sure if it’s him or Parse that whimpers afterwards. There are teeth against his inner thigh and he arches upwards again, cursing under his breath. Parse looks up at him, face still pressed against his leg, eyes glassy and warm.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” More teeth, more tongue, a hickey on his thigh.

“Like you like me.”

Parse nips at his hipbone and scrapes his teeth along it until he reaches the side of Bitty’s ass. “I don’t.”

Bitty tightens his grip in Parse’s hair and  _ pulls _ , moans with a sudden jump in his cock when Parse bites down on his ass. He’s never liked pain during sex before. It feels like making up for lost time.

“G-good,” Bitty manages, embarrassed by the way his voice trembles. “Then put your mouth back where it’s supposed to be.”

Parse obeys.

His nails dig into the meat of Bitty’s ass while he sucks him off, two fingers pressed into the fresh bruise. 

“I don’t— _ fuck,”  _ Bitty pants. “I don’t have condoms.”

Parse’s teeth catch on the head of Bitty’s dick when he pulls off. “I’m clean,” he suggests, unbothered. 

Bitty’s never fucked someone without a condom—never  _ considered.  _ He can feel the heat tight in his balls. “Why would I believe you?”

“‘Cause you want me,” Parse says. His voice is so goddamn  _ smug  _ and Bitty wants to ruin it. “Is it even a choice?”

Bitty’s hands are still in Parse’s hair. He uses them. 

The sound Parse makes is incredible, throat bared and bobbing with the effort of pushing out breath. Bitty tells him, “I don’t need this. You do.”

Parse smirks. “Fucking me’s the closest you’ll ever get to him.”

It’s not a denial, is the thing.  _ I need it,  _ Parse says.  _ You’ll give it to me. _

Bitty will. He knows that, even as he shoves Parse away so hard Parse’s shoulders hit the bedframe and he slides down, smirking up at Bitty from a half-sprawl on the floor. Languid, like someone left him draped there.

Bitty says, “Beg for it.”

Parse laughs sharply. “Not on the first date, sweetheart,” he drawls, mocking Bitty’s accent. 

It makes the inside of Bitty’s throat burn. He takes his time with an answer, pulling his lube out of the empty condom box and dangling it between his fingers. “Good thing I didn’t buy you dinner,” he grits out. “Beg.”

Parse is looking up at him from the ground, fully-clothed, mouth spit-shiny and thoroughly fucked. He looks younger, all of a sudden, like there’s something crawling back up out of him. He whispers, “Please.”

Bitty says, “Get on the bed,” and closes his eyes.

When he opens them, Parse is sprawled out on his belly and wriggling out of his jeans, the waistband caught halfway over his ass. 

Bitty grabs Parse by the ankles and yanks him backwards, sending Parse flailing for purchase as his hips dangle off the edge of the bed. He recovers, feet connecting with the floor, and laughs.

“Fuck,” he snipes, “you’re strong for a twink.”

Bitty spanks him so hard his hand recoils. “Shut up.”

Parse raises an eyebrow in challenge and then bites down on his own arm. Hard, by the looks of it. 

“Aw, that’s a good boy,” Bitty coos, going for snide, but Parse’s shoulders  _ shake  _ with the noise that sobs out of him.

_ Fuck.  _

“You like that?” Bitty asks, only half a question, as he yanks Parse’s jeans and boxers down his thighs. He lets his voice go soft. “You like feeling good?”

Parse whines high in his throat and hides his face in his arms, down into the comforter, and Bitty understands it all at once, a rush of  _ Oh, oh, I know you, now.  _ He could be sweet with it, let Parse feel like he’s finally, finally done something right somehow, and it would be the right thing to do, he thinks.

Bitty wants to be mean. “You’re not,” he tells him, and shoves two lubed-up fingers inside Parse at once. “You’re disgusting. Look where you are.”

His fingers twist and Parse hisses, teeth slipping free so he can spit, “Fuck you.”

Bitty ignores him because he can. “This is the best you’ve ever done? Showed up at some college party and begged for Jack to take you back? Begged for  _ me  _ just to touch you?”

Parse’s hips cant against the bed.  _ Because he’s still hard,  _ Bitty realizes. He hadn’t cared enough to check.

“You’re not good,” Bitty repeats, like a mantra. Like a reminder. He scissors his fingers inside Parse one last time and pulls them out. “You ruined Jack and you’re getting off on it. It’s  _ sick.” _

“Yeah,” Parse agrees. He’s staring through Bitty, eyes glazed over, his lips curled up in a faint smirk. Quietly, he asks, “What’s fucking me gonna do to you?”

Bitty smears lube over his dick and pushes inside. He’ll find out.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If my hate sex made you sad may I suggest reading [this fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9405863), the flip side of the spiritual coin. I have a brand I just don't know what it is. 
> 
> If you'd like to scream with me about Kent Parson or how I'm a terrible monster or both, find me [on Tumblr!](http://yoursummerfrost.tumblr.com/)


End file.
